Oh. My. Goodness.

Do not ever, under any circumstances, post your resume on Dice unless you really-really mean it.

Holy smokes.

I was on the phone all day long yesterday with recruiters, Lord bless them. They’re (mostly) nice folks. A bit intense. A bit pushy. A bit on the fast-talking side. I’ve talked with a few old friends who have slyly ribbed me about going back to work, and a few even older friends who are wondering aloud whether or not I’ve gone barking mad (as they’re trying to get me in for an interview at the same time, there’s politics for you!), some complete strangers and a few flat-out nutcases.

Also, I got several dozen emails, most of them obviously auto-generated, most of them…er…nothing to do with me at all. The computer scanned through, saw “Oracle” and fired off an email eagerly outlining the Super Uber Geek Senior Developer Who Knows More About It Than The Inventors position.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d love to be paid $125 an hour to develop Oracle databases. In…Connecticut…OK, see, I think we may have a slight geographical improbability issue, here…

Well…that and the minor little teeny-weeny, hesitate-to-even-mention fact that…I don’t know how to do the Super Uber Geek Senior Developer Who Knows More About It Than The Inventors gig. Not a clue. But if you’ll hum a few bars, I’d be delighted to fake it…

Which brings me to the subject of falsifying my resume. One of the nutcases who called was insisting that I could so totally do one this one job involving things I’d barely heard of, let alone done, at a level about two steps and five years experience above me. INSISTED! And when I pointed out that my resume did not support this kind of work, he then said, “Well, we could probably just change the wording here and there on your resume and…”

‘Change the wording’? Oh, I see. You mean, “Lie like a cheap rug.” Gotcha. Glad we cleared that up.

Today I’m sorely tempted to curl up in a ball under my desk and pretend I’m not home. Or maybe take myself out for ice cream. Or take myself out for ice cream, and then come home and pretend I’m out while I curl up on my sofa and eat it while watching Mad Money.

Yeah. That works for me.

But one of the intriguing possibilities that I can’t be specific about because it isn’t kosher at this point in the negotiations is becoming ever-more intriguing. The pay is ‘eh’, not good, not bad, just ‘eh’, but…the commute…

The commute would be a breeze. I would drive five (5) minutes to the train station, take the train to the destination station (a mere 30 to 35 minutes, which trust me is nothing in these parts of the woods – it can take me longer to drive to my local supermarket, sometimes) (not really, it just feels that way), and then a nice, healthy-but-not-too-healthy one crummy mile walk on a nice, flat, well-maintained sidewalk (past one espresso joint [offering a ‘customer appreciation card’, this was important], one bagel shop [no card, phooey], and a deli [for the occasional “dang it, I forgot my lunch AGAIN?!” roast beef sandwich]) to the office.

Hence, Mommy gets her titanic butt in gear and gets two miles worth of brisk walking in every day – painlessly. Because Lord knows, I’d never go do two miles on a treadmill at the gym. I’d have better uses for my time. I’d be busy. I’d be cooking (and eating) something, or cleaning something (so I could eat off it) or folding something (into something else, then baking and eating it).

And my total commute, including the exercise-walk, would be under one hour each way.

Coming from a background where two-hour-each-way, three-if-there’s-any-traffic commutes, may I just take this moment to say: {!swoon!}

Heh. Some poker-face, huh? “Yes, well, you know, I’m considering my options and after all I could easily get an extra $15 an hour if I just went with MegaBankingCorp downtown, so…wait…WHAT WAS THAT COMMUTE SITUATION AGAIN? I’LL TAKE IT! I’LL TAKE IT! OOOH! OOH! PICK ME! PICK ME!!!!!”